


Cinderella

by gunslingaaahhh



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunslingaaahhh/pseuds/gunslingaaahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny is like the male version of Cinderella... except not as pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderella

_  
****  
_

There was a long list of things Detetctive Danny Williams swore he’d never do. Since his arrival in Hawaii, that list had fluxuated in either direction so much Danny wasn’t even sure he knew who he _was_ anymore.

Certainly being a domestic had never crossed his mind; it wasn’t even _on_ the list for what should’ve have been obvious reasons.

Oh, and yet…

His usual semi-formal attire was replaced with faded jeans and a plain cotton t-shirt. Yellow dish gloves covered his hands well past his wrists, and he wore an agitated, almost disgusted look on his face.

Currently he was mopping the floor, the smell of the dirty water threatening to make him gag. Really, he shouldn’t have been mopping this floor, the _owner of the hous_ _e_ should’ve been mopping it, but the owner of the house was currently incapacitated, and hey, Danny was a nice guy, deep down.

~*~  
 _  
Just another day in the neighborhood_ , Danny thinks as he and Steve take their positions opposite Kono and Chin. They are about to storm into what they have discovered is the home base of an established drug operation. The team has been cracking down on this particular group for weeks now, and the people involved are getting more and more desperate.

Desperate might as well have been another word for “dangerous” as far as Danny was concerned, because here they were, suited up in all their Ops gear, tense and waiting for Steve to give the word. The intel collected most recently shows a spike in the purchase of firearms and that means this particular case is pretty close to being Steve’s ultimate wet dream, because the potential for being shot at and possibly killed is so high it might as well be a guarantee.

Danny was sweating so bad he could feel his shirt sticking to his skin, soaked through, and could feel it running down the sides of his face, running into his eyes and stinging.

In a hush he hears Steve say “go” and they are moving now, all four of them into their respective positions. Danny is creeping along, his lower center of gravity making it easier for him to remain close to the ground and, hopefully, out of harm’s way. He can hear a noise, almost on the outer ridges of his hearing, and is trying to ignore it because he needs to focus, but something in his subconscious is telling him this sound is important.

He turns, briefly, from his crouched position and almost shouts all the curses he’s thinking before calling out “gun!” and beginning to fire.

It would appear the enemy had smelled them coming and has launched an attack of their own. Bullets are flying, Danny can hear them whizzing past his head, so close he can feel the breeze they create and he’s shooting, trying to watch his team and his targets and his position all at once.

 _I’d kill to be an iguana right now_ , he thinks before ducking behind an outcropping of rock just to the right of the front of the house. He has eyes on Kono, who is behind a car and almost parallel to Danny, and eyes on Chin, who has taken the high ground and seems to be making progress in beating the drug runners down. The only person he can’t see is Steve and while that is to be expected, it still makes him nervous.

Edging out just a bit, Danny catches a glimpse of Steve’s ankle before it moves and Steve is walking _towards_ the danger. Cursing under his breath, Danny nods at Kono, a signal to cover him, and he creeps out from behind the rocks to follow Steve and at least attempt to prevent his stupid death.

Of course, in trying to keep his partner from getting killed, he puts himself in the sightline of a drug-running sharp shooter. Steve catches the reflection of the scope in his peripheral vision and turns to see that the gun is pointed at Danny, who has become preoccupied with shooting at someone else. He doesn’t see the sharp shooter.

Steve sets his jaw before making a move to take the sharp shooter out and unbeknownst to him, another is moving into position just behind. Danny can see this one and motions for Steve to get down, but Steve is paying more attention to the threat to Danny’s life and starts aiming for the first sharp shooter. He gets that one, between the eyes even, but has no time to relax before he feels an incredible burn begin at his back, near his shoulder, that expands outward and inward, towards his chest.

Towards his heart and his lungs.

Danny’s eyes go wide, gigantic on his face as he watches the force of the gunshot propel Steve towards him, eyes thrown to the sides, legs kicked behind him as he’s propelled forward. He scuttles forward, wanting to use his body as a cushion to catch his falling partner and has the wind knocked out of him when Steve makes contact.

They lay there for only a few seconds and then Danny is rolling them over so he can drag Steve behind something, _anything_ that will provide cover. The thought that Steve might be dead or close to it never crosses his mind.

  
~*~

That was weeks ago and the memory leaves a sour taste in Danny’s mouth. Luckily for them all, Steve did _not_ die, no because he is fucking _Superman_ and invincible or something. It really is a miracle, though, whichever way you slice it, because by all rights Steve _should_ have died, should have bled the hell out right there. As it would happen, Danny knew a little something about the preservation of life and did everything he could think of to help Steve until the medics could get there.

Kono and Chin managed to get the situation under control, both breaking out into a rage at seeing their leader taken down. Danny can still hear the bestial roar ripping itself from Kono’s throat, hears it when he’s sleeping sometimes, and he’ll never admit that it frightened him. He’ll never admit that the look in Chin’s eyes, a look that said he was going to destroy every single one of those motherfuckers, also had frightened him.

Steve had arrived at the ER with seconds to spare before he really _did_ bleed out, and Danny recalls weeping quietly to himself in the waiting room of the surgery wing, covered in dust and blood and _shmutz_ , Kono to his left and Chin to his right. They’d refused to leave until the primary surgeon came out and gave them the news, be it ill or fair.

The surgeon had sounded shocked even as he’d spoken the words, words that had rendered Danny speechless and unable to stand but gave Kono the renewed strength to jump and holler and drag Chin from his chair and spin him around, dancing.

They weren’t out of the woods yet, though, the surgeon had reminded them, it’d be a few days or so of close monitoring before they could judge how Steve would recover.

Steve was invincible, though, incapable of dying even in the best of situations, and so he’d pulled through the preliminary period just fine, meeting all of the doctor’s expectations.

Danny had been the first one to speak to him, when he was capable of doing so, and had read Steve the riot act for a solid two hours. His biggest point, the one he just couldn’t let go until he was absolutely sure Steve understood, was how fucking _stupid_ he had been, how utterly moronic, how incredibly _obtuse_. There were not enough words in the English language for Danny to use in that moment, for him to snatch out of the air with his rapidly waving hands. Steve had just sat there, in silence, and while part of Danny knew that was because it was difficult for him to speak without getting completely winded, part of him wanted to believe it was because Steve knew he had been wrong, had been a gigantic _Neanderthal animal_ and was silent so he could hear how wrong he had been.

Steve had gone through the necessary physical therapy, although it was draining because of the damage to his lungs. Very little action was needed to leave him totally out of breath and leaning against the wall, panting. Eventually, though, he managed to improve enough that the doctors decided he was well enough to finish recuperating at home.

It wasn’t until after Danny had volunteered to make sure things were ok at the McGarrett house that he’d noticed it, though. Steve had never rearranged any of his father’s furniture, and since it was apparent that his father hadn’t been home that much, that meant dust.

Danny was allergic to dust. He’d been blissfully allergy free since he’d arrived in Hawaii, but now walking into Steve’s house, he couldn’t be inside for more than five minutes without descending into a sneezing fit, which often lasted almost twenty minutes. So, since Steve was unable to do it, Danny decided to dust.

Which lead him to the realization that Steve didn’t vacuum, either. Or run the dishwasher. Or do the laundry. Or really anything a normal, sane person would do to keep their home tidy and nice. In fact, Steve seemed to averse to chores that whenever Danny mentioned it to him—“Steve, is that the same pile of laundry from two weeks ago?!” or “Please do not tell me that those dust kittens have been there since your father lived here”—were often met with a blank, semi-confused stare.

Danny had thrown his hands up in frustration on that first day Steve was home, propped up in his bed. He’d never been a neat-freak, but he knew that if one didn’t want to look like one lived in _squalor_ , one learned how to clean up after oneself.

“Y’know, for someone who is so, just, God, _lazer focused_ on such asinine things, you’d think keeping your house _presentabl_ _e_ for company would be, I dunno, a priority.”

“I’m sorry, shall I hire a maid?”

“Maybe you should! Since you can’t seem to figure out how to run a vacuum or use a sponge or dust. Christ, what does Catherine say? If it were me I would _never_ bring someone into my home if I hadn’t at least straightened up first, especially as nice a place as this.”

“Danny… you do know what your apartment looks like, right?”

“Hey, I have an excuse, at least! It is a very tight space and it holds not only my belongings, but some of my daughter’s things as well, I have a child that _makes a mess._ You don’t have that excuse as a luxury!”

“I do now, though.”

“You—I’m sorry, what?”

“Have an excuse.”

“…an excuse for _what_ , Steven?”

“For the place looking like this.”

The calm, infallible nature of his logic threatens to drive Danny to murder, but he has to admit that, yeah, the last couple of weeks do sort of count as a valid excuse not to do the daily house-hold chores. Being in the hospital will do that.

“For the last couple of weeks, yes, ok, you have an excuse. But what about before that? God, who knows what sort of _diseases_ could be floating through here!”

“There aren’t any _diseases_ Danny! It isn’t that much of a mess! I’m a single guy, I live alone! Whether or not I’ve run the dishwasher or remembered to mop the floor aren’t exactly the top of my list of things to worry about.”

“If I am going to go out of my way to take care of you, then it will _become_ something you worry about.”

“Wait, what?”

But Danny is already storming out of the room, down the stairs, and out to his car. It has been his experience that when one wishes to do a spring cleaning, one does not do so in dress pants and a button-up shirt.

And so, here he is, mopping Steve’s kitchen floor, amazed at how dark and murky the water is already and he’s not even half done. If he looks closely, he can easily see shoe-impressions: Steve’s running shoes, his boots, Danny’s own dress shoes. Wrinkling his nose, he rinses out his mop-bucket and refreshes the water.

He’s been working his way around the main floor, dusting, vacuuming, and wiping down shiny and/or smooth surfaces with polish. Really, as much as he grumbles about it, cleaning doesn’t bother him. It’s sort of cathartic, and as much as Steve will bitch about not knowing where things are now, Danny knows deep down the other man appreciates the effort. Being stuck in your house is one thing, but being stuck in your house when there are cobwebs in the corners and dust kittens under the bed? Not for Danny Williams, no way.

And so he cleans, methodically and with purpose, moving from room to room until the entire first level is pristine. He admires his handy work, hands on hips, turning in a slow circle. He smiles to himself for a moment, before remembering that the likelihood of Steve keeping things this way is slim to zilch.

Sighing heavily, Danny strips off his dish gloves and goes about putting his cleaning supplies away. He checks the time on the microwave in the kitchen and does a double take, jaw dropping at how late it is. He believes that if you’re going to do something, do it right the first time, and so spent a day, sometimes two, on one room alone.

He’d just finished the living room and dining room and now it is almost midnight. He’s tired, sweaty, and covered in a combination of cleaning chemicals and grime. He catches a whiff of himself and grimaces; no way is he driving home smelling like this, the last thing he wants to do is stink up the car.

In said car is a change of clothes and some toiletry items, which he grabs before heading upstairs. He can hear Steve’s bedroom television and frowns; it’s bad enough he doesn’t go to bed at a normal hour anyway, but he can’t manage to turn in early when he’s injured, either?

Danny walks purposefully into Steve’s bedroom and is at first shocked to see the bed empty, the blankets tossed aside. The shock doesn’t last long, though, when he hears the familiar sound of labored breathing coming from his left. Rounding the corner and fully entering the bedroom, Danny finds Steve against the wall leading away from the en suite bathroom. He is wearing basketball shorts and a ratty t-shirt, a hand pressed to his chest as the other braces his weight against the wall.

“What in God’s name are you doing?!” Danny shouts, throwing down his things and storming over to where Steve seems to have gotten stuck.

“Had… to… use the… bathroom… must’ve moved… a little… too… fast. I’m ok… really… just needed… a break… before… going back… to bed…” Steve wheezes out, hand still clutching at his chest.

Sucking his teeth, Danny offers his shoulder for Steve to rest his weight on and begins the arduous task of getting the taller and slightly heavier man back to bed. They reach the edge of the mattress and Steve collapses onto it, still panting a bit. Danny helps him get adjusted, still mostly upright so he can breath better.

“I was right downstairs, if you needed help you should’ve just—“

“I didn’t help going to the _bathroom_ , Danny. I just needed to get my breath back before I was able to walk back to bed.” He sounds better now that he isn’t exerting himself, and some of that old irritation is creeping back into his voice.

“Obviously, I meant if you needed help for the traveling portion of your little adventure.”

“Well, I’m settled back in now, thank you.”

“Yeah yeah. I’m gonna jump through the shower real quick, I feel like Cinderella all covered in soot.”

“It’s too bad you don’t look like her, too, would make the view of you cleaning my house a little better.”

Danny makes an extravagant show of rolling his eyes before leaving the room. He makes it about two feet down the hall when he hears Steve yelling for him. Sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair in exasperation, he turns and walks back to the bedroom, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“I just… I wanted to… tell you that… oh God,” Steve gasps, yelling taking more lung capacity than he’s managed to get back. He takes a moment to breath before continuing. “I wanted to tell you that the bathroom down stairs, the shower isn’t working. I’m not sure what’s wrong with it, I never got a chance to take it apart, but it’s broken. If you need to shower you’ll have to do it up here.”

Danny stares at him for a moment, mentally going over the list of things he’ll need to repair a busted showerhead.

“Ohhh-kaayyy then, I’ll shower up here. Please, _please_ tell me there are at least clean towels in this bathroom, Steven.”

Steve blinks at him for a moment before nodding his head, a smile creeping to his lips.

“Yes, _princess_ , there are clean towels in there; closet behind the door, middle or top shelf.”

“Thank you, darling,” Danny quips before going into the en suite and shutting the door behind him. He grunts in approval; this bathroom is far larger than his at home, with an actual tub _and_ a shower stall, the two separate. Oh, what he’d do to have a bathroom this large in his own residence.

Showering feels like nirvana after all of the cleaning Danny has done, and he almost doesn’t want to leave the warmth of the spray, but since he also doesn’t want to keep Steve awake any longer than he already has, he makes short work of turning everything off, drying and getting dressed and quietly leaving the bathroom.

Steve’s TV is still on, though the volume has been dialed almost all the way down, and the bedside lamp has been turned off. Pleased thus far, Danny walks closer, to see if Steve is actually watching TV or if he has finally dosed off, when he sees Steve shift under the blankets.

“Trying to sneak up on me, in my _own hom_ e? Detective, I am shocked.”

“It was too much to hope that you’d fallen asleep, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be down the hall, in the spare bedroom… there are clean sheets and things in there, right?”

Steve doesn’t respond right away, and suddenly can’t look Danny in the eye. Brows furrowing, Danny strolls down the hall to the spare bedroom and flicks on the light, eyes adjusting quickly. A groan of dismay escapes his lips: the spare bedroom couldn’t be farther from being a room one slept in. The mattress was bare, there were boxes piled up here and there, and there was nothing in the room even resembling a blanket or pillows. Huffing, Danny marches back to the master bedroom and flicks on the overhead light, causing Steve to squint and recoil from the harsh light.

“I’m sorry, because the only person who ever sleeps over here _also_ happens to sleep in your bed, that means your _guest bedroom_ gets to double as a storage facility? What the hell, you might as well just get rid of the bed frame, the mattress, everything! They aren’t doing you or I any good.”

Danny has his hands balled into fists and they are firmly planted on his hips, his stance argumentative. Steve mutters something, and even with the volume on the TV dialed down, Danny has a difficult time hearing it.

“Sorry, you’ll have to speak up, Sheepish!”

“I _said_ , the last person to sleep in that room was _me_. And since my dad died I just… I never got around to doing anything else with it.”

Posture relaxing, Danny visibly makes a point of softening his eyes.

“Ok, that’s ok, I’m ready to start tearing things apart up here, we’ll figure something out, alright? But for now I have a more pressing dilemma: where am I going to sleep?”

“Well, you’ve got two options: sleep on the couch downstairs, which is about as comfortable as a cardboard box on a concrete slab, or…”

“Or what?

“Or here. With me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Oh what?”

“Um, I’m not sure how, logistically, that is going to work. Granted, your bed is much bigger than mine, but you are also much bigger than _me_ , so while this bed is comfortable for just you, I don’t see it being comfortable for both of us.”

“Catherine’s never complained.”

“Catherine’s never…hello? You _sleep_ with Catherine! You cuddle and sleep right on top of each other, I imagine, it doesn’t matter how big a mattress is in that instance.”

“You imagine, huh?”

Danny opens his mouth to respond and feels himself blush a little, which is very obvious in the harsh light of the overhead. He raises his hand to point a finger, but has no rebuttal.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean it _like that_ , you pervy creep-show. I just meant that sleeping with someone when it’s intimate is different than sharing because you have to.”

“Ok, well, I’ve had to share close quarters in bunks and things with people bunches of times, and it’s always worked out fine. The most issues I had were a stiff neck, maybe. And it isn’t like I’m going to be moving very much,” Steve says, gesturing to his condition.

“This is true… alright, fine, I’d rather attempt to get a comfortable night’s sleep, but if you so much as _tap_ me in the night, I’m rolling you onto the floor.”

“Yes, because that’s such a great idea; there is only the possibility of me drowning, Danny.”

“You couldn’t, you—you know what? I’m tired, I’m not going to argue with you about how ridiculous that sounds. Where do you keep extra blankets?”

Steve points to a door on the left side of the bed, and Danny discovers there are in fact extra blankets in there, a quilt even, and silently thanks Steve’s father for at least knowing how to prepared in such a situation.

He finds an extra pillow in the closet as well, and briefly considers going to the spare room anyways, but then decides that sleeping on a bare mattress, who’s last known occupant is Steve the super-SEAL, would be pretty disgusting, and settles in on the unoccupied side of the bed. He reaches for the remote and clicks the TV off, hearing Steve suck his teeth at the action.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?”

“No, no problem, I just like to fall asleep with the TV on, if you don’t mind,” and Danny feels Steve reach over in the darkness, take the remote from him, and click the TV back on.

Watching him, incredulous, Danny reaches for the remote, snatches it back and flicks the TV off with a flourish, before tossing the remote onto the floor. Steve makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, and Danny can easily picture his partner’s face.

“Well, since _I_ am the guest and I have so _generously_ volunteered to keep house for you, I think I have the authority in this situation, and _I_ say the TV stays off so I can sleep.”

Steve makes no motion to argue, so Danny sorts his blankets rolls over and closes his eyes. He can hear Steve fidgeting with his own blankets, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, and for a brief moment Danny feels bad, because sleeping sitting up must not be the easiest task. But, then Danny remembers how completely idiotic Steve was and how this is entirely his own fault and he doesn’t feel so bad.

He is beginning to drift, untold minutes later, when he feels the bed move. His eyes snap open and roll towards Steve, although he makes no other movements. He waits to see if it is just Steve settling again, but the movement continues and he can feel the blankets under him being tugged at. Closing his eyes and trying to ignore it, Danny wills himself to sleep but is unsuccessful, because now Steve is making real noise.

His first thought is so foul he can feel himself gag; no way Steve lacks the common decency to _beat off_ with Danny _right the fuck_ next to him, no way. He may lack a lot of things, but that is not one of them. He listens for the tell-tale sounds of skin-on-skin, but it doesn’t come and he exhales a sigh of relief. The amount of awkward _that_ would’ve caused in the morning is beyond Danny’s ability to understand right then.

The noises continue, though, and finally Danny can’t take it anymore. His eyes have pretty well adjusted to the low light in the room, provided by the moon. He rolls just enough to catch Steve’s silhouette in the moonlight and sees that the other man has his arms crossed over his chest—an absolutely huge no-no—and that his body is shaking. Concerned now, Danny leans up and gingerly touches Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey… are you ok?” he asks quietly. Steve gasps, startled, and quickly hushes.

“M’fine,” comes the mumbled response.

“No, no I do not think so, my friend,” Danny says before flicking on the bedside lamp on his side.

Steve tries to turn away, but is limited in his mobility by all of the gauze and wrapping around his torso and the pure and simple fact that moving that way _hurts_. Danny can see the tear tracks on his partner’s face, and his eyes soften.

“What’s the matter? Does it hurt, should I get your meds?”

“No, nothing hurts.”

“Are you sure? Are your bandages sticking? The doctor said that would happen, while the wound is healing—“ Danny continues, but he is cut off by the look on Steve’s face.

“Well… what is it, then?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, Danno.”

“No, no-no, don’t you ‘go back to sleep, Danno’ me, pal. I am a _detective_ , remember? I can tell things about people, and one of those things is when people are lying to me. So, do us _both_ a favor, do not lie to me. Tell me what’s wrong; maybe I can fix it.”

Steve is looking at him, contemplative, bottom lip caught between his teeth. His brows furrow and he shakes his head a little, as if mentally deciding something.

“It isn’t—“

“If you even tell me it isn’t that big a deal, I will punch you, I will punch you _so hard_ you fall out of this bed. Stop _fucking_ around and talk to me.”

Danny is sitting Indian-style now, facing Steve, and is not leaving room for argument. Steve takes a deep breath, as deep as he can manage and begins speaking.

“When I was still in the hospital, I was constantly surrounded by people; doctors, nurses, you name it. At night, because I was hooked up to all those machines, if I so much as hiccupped, someone came running. I was never alone, ever, at any point.”

“…yes, and? That would be a hospital doing it’s job, Steve.”

“I’d do things on purpose to make the nurses come, Danny. Knock a machine over, tug at my I.V.s, all sorts of things, because I didn’t… I didn’t want to be alone, with this,” Steve finishes, gesturing to his chest and the wound therein.

“You—what?! Why would you… Any or all of that could’ve effected your recovery, Steven! What if you had a heart attack or something? Christ, why are you so _stupid_ _?_ ”

Danny is ranting, now, needing to vent his frustration at being awake when he’d prefer to be sleeping, and it takes him a moment to see the look on Steve’s face. It is shame, and that look cuts through Danny because in the amount of time he has known Steve, he has never known the other man to show or even be capable of shame.

Lowering his voice to a more acceptable level, Danny folds his hands in his lap and tries to his best to keep his tone even.

“Ok, so you made the nurses come and check on you; why, because you were afraid something would happen to you? That’s what all those machines are _for_ , you moron!”

“I just wanted the human contact,” Steve whispers, and Danny understands, then, at least a little.

“They couldn’t give you the contact you wanted, though. You wanted someone to hold your hand, or crawl into the bed with you, or something, am I right? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Steve can only nod, his eyes downcast. Danny considers this, thoughtful for a moment. He’d never once considered that Steve, super macho Navy SEAL with the freaky ninja skills and lack of consideration for human life, could be capable of feeling _vulnerable_. But, there it was, out in the open, and Danny had to admit that not being able to breath normally had to be really scary, scary even to a guy like Steve. Running his hands through his now disheveled hair, then letting them flop back into his lap, Danny heaves a sigh.

“Ok.”

“…ok what?”

“Ok, ok. What do you want me to do.”

“I don’t—“

“Enough, stop it. You want something from me, you must, and it’s making you an emotional wreck and I am going to _pray_ that’s because of the pain meds. Now, be a man, grow a pair, and tell me what you want me to do.”

Steve stares, sees Danny is steadfast in his resolve, and swallows the lump of embarrassment forming in his throat.

“Would you… would you be willing to just… um, be closer to me, maybe, until I fall asleep? You don’t even have to really touch me or anything, just—“ but before he can finish, Danny has sidled up alongside him and has slung an arm across his shoulders, pulling them together so they are snugly side-by-side on the bed.

“Like this? Can you still breathe ok if I do this?” Danny asks, concerned about the weight of his arm on his friend’s shoulders. Steve gawks at him for a minute, shocked, but manages to nod. Danny returns the nod before leaning over to shut his lamp off.

“Alright, I’m not sure how comfortable this will be, but I’ll stay like this until you doze off, I promise.”

“… thank you.”

The position eventually requires Steve to slouch down in the bed, but he finds he can still breathe perfectly fine that way, and even manages to angle himself against Danny, the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart reassuring.

Danny does his best to stay still, afraid any movement will wake Steve up, but before long he can tell his partner is knocked out, his breathing slow and deep against the side of Danny’s body. Secure in the knowledge that Steve isn’t going to suffocate beside him, Danny allows himself to drift off.

~*~

When the morning light streams in, Danny is groggily blinking sleep away from his eyes. He hasn’t really moved at all, and his limbs and back are stiff from being in the same position for so long. He tries to move but realizes that Steve has adjusted his own position while they were sleeping, and is more actually resting on Danny’s chest.

Danny holds his breath, slightly mortified. Steve is half on top of him, one arm slung across his chest. He is close to Danny’s neck, could even nuzzle in there, if he wanted, and is breathing low and even. He could use a good shave, and Danny is slightly weirded out by the fact that Steve is so close to him, close enough that he can see every single eyelash splayed out on Steve’s cheeks. All of the usual creases and lines in Steve’s face are gone, completely smoothed out by sleep, and Danny is astounded by how young the other man looks. He imagines that if Steve hadn’t endured all that he had, perhaps he would look this way all the time. He then decides he likes the Steve he knows better.

There is a sudden realization of pressure low in his abdomen, and Danny realizes he needs to pee. This will prove to be a problem, of course, because in order to get out of bed Steve needs to move, and moving will mean waking. Moving slowly, he gets both hands on Steve’s shoulders and gently shakes him, trying to nudge him off.

As if aware of his plight and looking to exploit it, Steve snuggles in closer, leaving Danny to grit his teeth in exasperation. Done with being subtle, he again grips Steve’s shoulders and gives him a forceful shake, this time speaking in sync with the movement.

“Steve, you need to move, I have to get up.”

To his part, Steve does an excellent job of pretending he’s heard and felt nothing, and Danny is ready to just shove him over so he can go relieve himself.

“I’m giving you one more chance, Steven, and then I really will put you on the floor.”

The force and tone of his voice is enough this time, and Steve cracks an eye open and regards Danny petulantly.

“Why is it always the _floor_ with you?” he says, voice thick with sleep, easing himself over enough for Danny to squeeze out from under him.

“Why mess with what works?” he tosses over his shoulder on his way into the bathroom. He doesn’t bother closing the door, just goes, knowing Steve can’t actually see him anyways.

Feeling better now, he returns to the bed and sits a more appropriate distance away.

“So, how did we sleep?”

“Pretty well, actually. Better than I have since being in the hospital, anyway.”

“Well that’s splendid, really it is.”

They look at each other for a minute, just staring. Steve is more awake now, but is completely relaxed and calm, just eying Danny. Danny scratches at his chin, much rougher with stubble now, and wonders if he should make a remark about the awkward, or just let the moment do the talking. Steve watches him, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m waiting.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m waiting for you tell me how pleasant an experience cuddling with me was.”

Danny’s eyes bug out of his head, mouth opening and closing for a minute before he starts laughing, holding his sides.

“Cuddling? Listen to me, McGarrett, I do not _cuddle_ , I do not _cuddle_ with anyone unless it is my daughter, do you understand?”

“Right, right, of course. So what exactly were we doing this morning, then? Snuggling?”

“Snug—neither! I was helping you out so you could sleep, that’s all!”

“Mmhm,” and Steve is smiling playfully, hands folded together on his stomach.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that! Like you’re a self-satisfied, smarmy jerk.” Danny is folding his arms across his chest, tilting his chin in the air, defiant. “We did _not_ cuddle, we are not _cuddling_ , and we will never cuddle. Ever. Grown men who _work together_ do not cuddle.”

“Of course not, that would be inappropriate, totally against protocol and procedure.”

“Exactly.”

“Hmm,” is Steve’s reply, that playful look not leaving his face. Danny is getting fed up, getting irritated and he doesn’t understand why, which is only serving to piss him off more.

“You know what I think?” he says then, leaning closer to Danny. “I think that sometimes, as much as you like snuggling up with Gracie, that you wish you had someone… bigger, more your own size to snuggle with. Just admit it, you miss snuggling with another adult.”

Danny’s face is painted with shock, “I most certainly do _not_.”

“No, I really think you do. Listen, it doesn’t have to be weird unless you make it that way. We’re both adults, we’re both comfortable with our sexuality, and we’re friends. What’s wrong with us cuddling? I mean really, who’s gonna care? It isn’t like anyone else is here.”

“Someone else could walk in.”

“The only person who walks into this house unannounced is _you_ , Danny, so I wouldn’t worry about that. And even if someone did, they have no reason to come up here.”

“Why are you trying to rationalize this?”

“Why are _you_ trying to make it sound so _irrational?_ ”

Danny doesn’t have an answer for that. Steve smiles broader then, a smile that says he knows he’s won this round, and he glances towards the bedside clock, on Danny’s side.

“It’s still really early… I don’t think it’s going to take you all day to clean up here. It’s just this room, the bathroom, and the spare.”

“I beg your pardon, there’s cobwebs in the corners, the framed photos in the hall need to be wiped down—“

“My point is that we can just lay here, watch a little tube, and relax a bit before you continue your mission of disinfection.”

Danny glowers at Steve, not ready to yield but knowing that as far as Steve’s concerned the argument is over. And he’s right; it’s not quite seven yet, he went to sleep rather late, and he has all day to finish the house and do anything else that needs to be done.

“Fine, fine, fine. If this shuts you up so I can snooze for a little while, then I’ll go with it. But don’t you even _think_ that this is gonna become ‘a thing,’ you hear me? This is not going to be ‘a thing,’ I refuse.” He’s got a finger pointed into Steve’s face, and Steve is doing his best to look hurt.

“It won’t become 'a thing.' If anything, you can blame it on my pain meds, say that messed with my head, if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, really, but I’ll what I can get when it comes to you.”

And so Danny stretches out after picking up the remote and is flipping through channels, Steve easing over and tucking his head under Danny’s chin. He makes a move to sling an arm over Danny’s torso but thinks better of it, tucking his arms against his chest instead. Danny can see the pause in the movement and seems to know what Steve was going to do and for some reason, it irritates him.

“Go big or go home, you super ninja freak.”

Steve smiles against Danny’s chest and slings an arm over him, curving his fingers over Danny’s ribs.

“Whatever you say, Cinderella.”  



End file.
